I feel his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t add anything, just jabs another branch into the fire.
Over the quick breakfast,the three guards relax a little, ribbing me over how they’ve known seasoned warriors who would be taken down by how sweet my porridge is. We exchange small pleasantries and stories, and I learn that Grellor is from the northeastern mountainous border, where the winters are harsh, and Yosef hails from a coastal village that’s always warm. Not surprising, as their demeanours seem to reflect their hometown climates. Mathis has been a city boy his whole life, second-generation King’s Guard. Lord Grumpypuss doesn’t contribute to the conversation, finishing his breakfast quickly before getting up to finish preparing his horse.
“He always looks like that?” I ask the guards, keeping my voice low.
“Like what?” Yosef asks with a glint in his eye, knowing perfectly well what I’m talking about.
“Like his arsehole is challenging his mouth to a puckering contest. And losing.”
All three guards stop what they’re doing and stare at me, porridge spoons hovering in mid-air, inches from their mouths. Then Mathis and Yosef burst into laughter, and I earn an outright guffaw from Grellor, who tries to hide it with a gruff cough.
“He’s just… focused,” Mathis offers, still gasping from laughter. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Too late,” I mutter under my breath.
Once breakfast is doneand everything is packed away, Rylan approaches me, his gaze flicking between the other men and me. “Ready?” he asks.
Meeting his gaze head-on, I reach for the saddle and lift my leg, trying to tuck my foot into the stirrups to pull myself up.
I’m… unsuccessful.
I try again.
Still no luck.
“Need help?” comes the low voice.
Yes. “Does it look like it?” I say instead.
The third attempt is no more successful.
Impatient, he huffs, his large hands squeezing me around the waist before dumping me onto the horse’s back. A second later, he slides into the saddle behind me, his body taut and warm against my back.
“Show off,” I grumble. “Just watch, by the end of this trip, I’ll be the one lifting you onto the horse.”
All I get is a rumble in his chest as a reply.
“What do you know about magic?”I ask after we’ve been riding in silence for a few hours. Deep in thought over my memories of what happened in the village, I’ve sparedhim my chatter. But now I’m ready to ask all the questions. “I mean, truly know. I’ve never been taught much. Most people in my village have magic, but only of the basic kind. My neighbour’s Strength was Earth”—I swallow; it hurts to think about him and Kahlia without knowing how they are—“and he used his to help with his farm labour. Some others could start fires, or conjure a nice breeze on a hot day. But nothing like… like… what I… did.” It’s still impossible to think that the ice shield had come from me.
His expression shifts as something flickers behind his eyes, but he quickly tamps it down. “I know enough,” he says, his voice steady but noncommittal.
“That’s not an answer,” I press.
“It’s the answer you’re getting,” he replies, his tone brooking no argument. “When we reach our destination, you will learn everything you need to know.”
I scowl, frustrated. “You’re really good at being mysterious, you know that?”
“It’s my job,” he says, deadpan, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Was that really just a day ago? It feels like everything that happened was a lifetime ago.
“Right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see what other secrets you’re hiding.”
He doesn’t respond, and I can’t help but feel a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. Lord Grumpypants is hiding something—something big—and whatever it is, I have a feeling it’s going to turn my world upside down.
“So—” I start.
And he sighs. “Gods. Not again with the questions.”
“Just one? Please.”
